Pure
by mad-cow-mama
Summary: Carmilla fic. Danny, after S1 finale.


"It's just what you are," her mother said. "We all are."

Danny examined her mother's hands next to her own. They both had long, strong hands, but where Danny's were young, smooth, and slightly plump, her mother's were drier, bonier, and showed more lines at the knuckles and in the palms. There were calluses, thick and dense, on her bowstring fingers, on the thumbs, palms, and forefingers from wielding broadsword, foil, rapier and dagger, quarterstaff. The ancient tools. Danny took her mother's hand and appraised the calluses with her thumbs.

She didn't really know much of her mother's history. She said so much with a look or a touch that Danny rarely sought her words.

Silence's familiarity settled between them.

Archery had come easily to Danny. She'd played safety in football, goalie in soccer and hockey, post (natch) in basketball. Her whittling skills she kept on the down-low, but people noticed her speed, her strength, her stature, and her willingness to risk herself.

Danny was a hero. Heroine.

Seventh generation heroine, that is. Her many times great grandmother had founded The Summer Society and set about populating it with like minded, if perhaps less ept, ladies of Silas. Heroine blood ran through Danny's veins. And it didn't give a fuck what else might.

Danny had noticed Laura early in the semester. How could she not? Tiny, earnest, well-intentioned Laura. Under the veil of recruiting for Summer Society, she'd invited Laura for coffee, or rather hot chocolate, and they'd hit it off. Laura sharpened her protective instinct like nothing before.

"That's how I knew your father was the one," said her mother.

Looking back, Danny wasn't sure she should have used her mother's yardstick. To Laura, she'd become no more than a tool. But Laura— Laura, and consequently everyone she cared about, was always worth saving.

And it was true, she'd acted like a tool toward Laura. But protecting people was her job. It was what she was made for. Laura may as well have staked her through the heart when she rejected her for being who she was.

But Danny, counseled by her mother, surrendered to being who she was. And with great power, she knew, comes great responsibility. She wouldn't allow something as ephemeral as feelings to interfere with her job as protector.

So when the smoke cleared, and at the bottom of the chasm flapped the broken little blackbird, the limp kitten, arguably the real hero of the day, Danny the Protector knew her mission.

Retrieve Carmilla.

Danny, strong, loyal, beautiful as a dark golden retriever, followed her instinct and without regard for her own safety, descended the pit.

It's not like on Buffy, when a vampire gets killed. Bursting into golden dust is way too tidy. When you actually stake a vampire, it seems as if all the blood they've ever sucked comes flooding out of them in torrents.

It soaked into the earth like the bodies of centuries were reclaiming it.

The pit was slick with blood. And yet Danny stayed sure-footed, sure of herself, sure of her mission. She'd seen Laura in the aftermath. She'd seen the thousand-meter stare. She didn't have to imagine Laura's loss. She picked her way forward, as a mountain goat would, all the way to Carmilla.

The body was ridiculously light but intact. Danny scooped her up and finished her mission. She took her to Laura.

She hadn't considered the consequences. She couldn't watch their reunion, but she couldn't look away. Then Perry proved her heroism and herded her away.

Soon they were running, running through woods, running from riotous villagers, defending Laura and her friends, their friends, from riotous villagers. Making sure they made it safely to Laura's father's house.

Finally, finally reaching home.

"You did what you could," her mother said, "You did the right thing."

Danny's body had already healed. But her heart remained pierced.

Her mother placed her wizened hand on Danny's sternum. She drew her closer and kissed her forehead.

"It does hurt," she murmured. "It's what we do."


End file.
